The Stroller | Your Bearcat misses their party days

If you are the person that believes getting blacked out is a personality trait, you should Google AA. College is draining enough, now I have found myself gagging at the thought of alcohol.

It’s my own fault for thinking that taking tequila shots for the last two years was a good idea. But at the same time, I expected my party days to last longer.

Before the world collapsed into a pandemic, I was fueling the liquor industry by downing handles of Captain Morgan in the grass lot while I didn’t even know what team we were playing. To be fair, at that point, I’m not sure I could have told you my name.

I enjoy the simplicity of only having a drink or two and then driving myself home to go to bed at 11 p.m. on a Thursday. Though I would never do it again, sometimes I miss the nostalgia of passing out in the Flag Plaza.

I’m not sure if it is the upper division classes or my liver shutting down, but I have reached peak adulting when it comes to drinking. There is nothing wrong with this; you have to grow up eventually.

If you are still the person that goes hard at the bars, I might roll my eyes. Because if you ask me what I will be doing this weekend, I will inform you that it will have nothing to do with alcohol.

My underage partying days have been over for a while. Part of me wishes that I would have waited to start drinking, and another part of me thanks myself for getting it over with and out of the way. But there are days I wish I could go to The Pub and actually want to buy a drink.

I learned my lesson the hard way, and I hope this finds its way to the people that need to hear this — your bottom shelf vodka mixed with your MiO will still be there when you are 21, pace yourself.